


Bermuda Shorts

by TigerKat



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: M/M, Sorry Not Sorry, bermuda shorts, gay cruise, horrific fashion decisions, it'll look better on his floor, meme fill, yes john is wearing a speedo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-15
Updated: 2013-10-15
Packaged: 2017-12-29 11:29:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1004904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TigerKat/pseuds/TigerKat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harold is wearing Bermuda shorts. John is intrigued.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bermuda Shorts

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt was "ridiculously fluffy Finch/Reese where they have to pose as a couple on a gay cruise or something." Iiiiii'm not sorry...

Well, John thought, amused. That was a thing you didn't see every day.

Their current number, Richard Wilmore, had headed off on a cruise to, apparently, troll for a new boyfriend. "Something of a swinger," Harold had called him, in classic understatement—John would've called him an unrepentantly unfaithful bigamist himself, but so it went. At any rate, Wilmore's ex, Daniel Flannery, understandably annoyed by the abrupt way he'd been dumped, had purchased a ticket for the same cruise and a small handgun not long after.

It wasn't hard to put two and two together. 

That explained how John found himself on the pool deck of the USS Anamaria, dangling his feet in the water, watching Wilmore play volleyball with a group of very attractive men while leering at literally everyone. 

That did _not_ explain Harold, his expression hilariously pissed off, wearing a pair of the loudest Bermuda shorts that ever scarred his retinas—and John had seen a surprising amount of Bermuda shorts. For some reason the MI-5 agents pulled them out at every opportunity. Not that they pulled them off anywhere near as well as Harold.

"Looking good, Mr. Finch," he said, when Harold got within earshot. "I like the flowers."

Harold made a face at him, and sat gingerly in one of the pool chairs. "Don't patronize me, Mr. Reese. I'm well aware how unfortunate this must look."

"No, I meant it," John said, and kicked a stray beach ball back toward its well-muscled owners. "Really sets off your skin tone."

Harold eyed him suspiciously. After a moment he clearly decided that John was not in fact mocking him (which was good, because he wasn't) and shook his head. "You're attracting some attention yourself, in--" he waved a finger at John's Speedo— "that."

Harold hadn't minded them when he'd first put them on. John grinned, and glanced back towards the volleyball game. Wilmore was leaning into the personal space of the blond, lithe server. He turned back toward Harold, keeping Wilmore and his current target in the corner of his eye. "Where did you even get those shorts?"

Harold made another face and picked at the fabric like the finicky connoisseur he was. "They didn't seem quite so—loud—on the website, I assure you."

"What, you're wearing something off the rack? _You?"_

"There's nothing wrong with preferring to look one's best," Harold said, with all of his considerable dignity. "However, given the situation, these seemed more correct."

John grinned again. "You just didn't want your tailor to know you were going to wear something like that."

Harold coughed. "There is that consideration as well, yes." His mouth twisted with disgust. "I do hope Mr. Flannery makes his move soon. I would like to get out of these."

John, about to make an offer concerning those shorts, caught movement towards Wilmore and turned, distracted. "Speak of the devil." There was Flannery, striding across the pool deck, his face set.

Several complicated minutes later, the gun had gone overboard, Flannery had been wrestled to the ground by a passenger who happened to be a cop, Wilmore had been punched a couple times, and the blond server was cozying up to John. Sweet kid, but utterly uninteresting; John excused himself as gracefully as he could and looked around for Harold.

There he was, still seated primly on his deck chair, hands folded in his lap and listening to the cop bitch to his boyfriend about working on vacation while the boyfriend made soothing noises. Harold appeared to be only mildly interested. Good. John was pretty much finished being on the pool deck.  
He went back to Harold and knelt beside his chair. "So," he said. "You were saying about the shorts."

"Very well done, Mr. Reese," Harold said, not listening. "I particularly liked the trick with the gun, but did you need to push Mr. Wilmore over that chair?"

"Yes," John said. "About the shorts."

Harold wrinkled his nose. "I simply can't help thinking there would have been a more elegant way."

"He deserved it. Harold, the shorts."

"What?" Harold looked at him, then down at the shorts. "Oh, yes. I suppose I can take them off now. I don't plan on swimming."

"I was thinking," John said, shifting on his knees, "that I could take them off for you. With my teeth."

"I really don't know what possessed me to..." Harold stuttered to a stop, and looked down at John. "I... really?"

John shifted again, and hoped his Speedo wasn't giving too much away yet. It definitely felt tighter. "Do I ever make offers I don't mean?"

Harold cleared his throat, took off his glasses and cleaned them, unnecessarily, on the edge of his t-shirt. "Well, then," he said. "Shall we return to our cabin?"

"After you," John said, grinning.


End file.
